


Vice

by IncompleteWithoutLife



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, F/F, Minor Character Death, Minor Finn Collins/Clarke Griffin, Or lexa isn't really that subtle (like at all), Or really it's not major, Romance, Seriously she doesn't even try, but you get it?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-08-15 23:06:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8076415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncompleteWithoutLife/pseuds/IncompleteWithoutLife
Summary: Subtlety was all semantics—or really her demand for it is becoming a necessity. And maybe in reality the hope that's embedded itself into her chest with a mirthful chuckle will cease with all torment. Maybe, there may be a possibility that everything she's endured will verify all of her pain she's swallowed down. Or maybe—she should have prepared for the inevitable eruption that is her own emotions, rather than pester Clarke for any and all affection. But then that would decimate her hope, and then maybe that will be the moment she truly loses everything.





	1. Chapter 1

It's an affair with irony—an adaptive concept of sorts.

"It's an effective piece of literature that will have a peculiar supremacy over most philosophical ideas, forever. The influence will occur for decades, generations, it already has. Plato is credited as a pivotal figure in the evolution of philosophy. Socrates was a phenomenal teacher, and Plato was as well. So you must hold at least one ounce of respect for a man of such achievements that stretch the mind further than thousands of other philosophers would or ever will. Clarke,"

Or rather it's more so that their respective relation will never really reach harmony; in predicaments such as this, it seems that they are always at an impasse. And more often than not they are at a deadlock. According to Lincoln and well nearly everyone she knew they held a chemistry that redefined 'opposites attract' and really introverted it into an entirely contradicting concept. Based on their interactions, "opposites attract, but that negative charge switches into a positive and the entire ordeal is thrown into a fire that will combust.' So maybe Lincolns career choice may not be a rocket scientist or even a chemist. Either way Lexa can at times find truth in that terrible analogy.

Still. The irked flicker between the cobalt blue orbs that are an absolute rebuttal to the balanced expression and all too kind smile—that's only a means to be polite, well it amuses her to no end. She can practically hear the vein in the pale slender neck erupt.

"Well Lexa," She could faint if the blonde speaks her name with such venom again.

It's very enticing.

"That entire rant doesn't really apply to me then. It was a joke. A joke that I'm more than positive a student in the race for valedictorian such as yourself would have caught. So really I'd appreciate it if you weren't so damn practical the entire period. Or how about you show some manners and try not to invade in a conversation that wasn't ever really available to intrude on."

And of course she has to halt the ever persistent desire to smile. Only until the blonde returns to her original position with her back towards the brunette attention once again on Monty; who in turn has watched their entire interaction with an entertained twinkle in his eye.

Of course there could be a possibility that she detected the humor in the husky voice that sends reverberating shivers down her spine. Also maybe she only formed that whole lecture in order to attain her fellow seniors’ attention. In her defence Clarke had not so much as uttered a single word to her until that disdain fueled scolding. And who would want to be deprived of that sinful voice for an entire hour and forty minutes? Hearing it was like a necessity. No matter if the tone switches between respect and loathing, with no other true alternative. She was more than willing to embrace the opportunity. So with a fond smile, Lexa merely soaks up the tiny altercation, and continues her unyielding worksheet. Pencil scratching the porcelain paper littered with thirty-four evenly distributed blue faded blue lines. She calculates more often than not in order to regain her focus. It usually an action motivated by the moments where Clarke holds her perceptions captive. It proves effective after the second count.

The bell resounds the very second her pencil touches the desk with a firm click. Her daily rituals begin: settle the notebook in the pockets of her bag, place her utensils within the confines of the coordinating pouch, tighten the strings, then connect the metal magnets and shoulder the strap...only one more to complete it. And even eventually the owner of the smooth blonde hair that's been braided into a loose French braid will have to accept the fact that's she is indeed a part of this frequently appointed occurrence. At least teen assist her with an excuse to shamelessly reach for the pale hand swinging carelessly with each swaying step. The downside though is the feverent walk or escape that Clarke attempts every day since freshman year.

"Clarke wait,"

And there is that soft hand with the strong fingers that's handled as much art utensils as Leonardo da Vinci himself.

"I...You—"

The faintest quirk of a sculpted eyebrow gives her an incentive to forego the impending failure to handle a simple compliment she dishes almost every day. So with a clutch on the strap of her bag, she musters a delicate smile.

"You look beautiful today—as per usual of course." Lexa speaks sincerely.

Her eyes skirt across soft features: small yet noticeable silt in a rounded chin, pink lips with the corners of a mouth folded lines; a sign of straining grins, an endearing beauty mark that uplifts with every smirk. Her fingers ease in grip and she yearns to trace the faint outline of the tiny dimple ghosting over the slightly chubby cheeks. She can remember with keen memories of having her hand carrying the blondes chin while she watched the crinkle forming on the gently sloped nose more often than not whenever the owner was rendered into a bout of laughter. A tranquil smile admiring the peaceful beauty spills onto her lips, and Lexa finds solace in the truth that she could stare at the alluring human being until her spirit passes—she’d die a harmonious death if she could have the blonde within her sight.

Clarke maneuvers her hand from the brunettes grasp gently. With a dutiful smile and nod she continues her parade out of the classroom, but not before craning her neck until the green eyed girl is visible once more. Pensive frown etched into her features. Lexa fully grins at that.

"You'll get her someday Lex. She was internally swooning. I know it." Monty speaks, interrupting her admiring stare after the blonde.

Green eyes flutter to Monty’s deep brown irises—she relishes in the encouraging smile, and kind features.

"You've told me that every day for the past three years. I think that achievement is a little overdue." Lexa mumbles.

"Well everyone needs a bit of encouragement. And with your situation with Clarke...you need a lot of it."

His teasing tone provokes a familiar smirk from her lips.

"An affair with irony indeed." Lexa concludes shortly, smirk growing due to the warming laughter emitting from his retreating form.

It's one adaptive concept of course—one she'll readily transition through in order to attain the ultimate goal. Obtaining Clarke Griffin's romantic affection has proven to be a strenuous ordeal. But she's in it for the long haul, so she will excuse the obvious dislike the blonde always regards her with.

_..._

Her eyes travel a distance to meet thin lips wrapped around a firm smirk. Scowl forming while she gingerly plucks the well thrown fry from her brown locks tidied with a series of intricate braids, and conservation bands to keep them in place. Lexa flicks the acidic food back onto the leftovers on the girl's plate.

"Please refrain from using those animalistic manners. You are in a public environment need I remind you." Lexa scolds.

"I already get enough lectures from Bell. I don't need them from you too." Octavia replies through narrowed eyes. Expression returning to its previous amusement after a second beat of silence.

"And don't try to switch this up on me. You we're staring. _Again_." Octavia states with a few tisk, "Seriously quit. It's creepy for one. Two she has a boyfriend. And three the ' _oh_ ' so impending fact that she has had than same damn boyfriend for well over a year. That boat has long since sailed Lexa. Get over it."

"I'm well aware she is in a relationship Octavia. While we are on the subject of metaphorical situations though. How has the ship sailed if neither one of us have actually boarded a relationship with one another? Also did it not take you two years in order for you to tell Lincoln you had a serious crush on him?"

Pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation, Octavia furiously shakes her head in disapproval.

"It's different because Lincoln actually reciprocated the adoration. On the other hand it's not like there is some conspiracy theory on your feelings towards Clarke. You've made that obvious. And even if she doesn't see it—which she does—the declaration you made during your sophomore year was all the clarification she needed. Oh and an added bonus. She doesn't seem very fond of you."

With an abated curve of her lips, she toys with the overcooked steamed vegetables on her plate.

"You do not have to sugar coat it Octavia. She does not like me. It's not very difficult for the common eye to catch."

Octavia eyes her friend, shoulders dropping in resignation. It wasn't ideal to simply throw all the hope or confidence from the brunette. Just this crush that she was told begun freshmen year that only morphed into full blown love is a little depressive. Be it inspirational for the usual stoic, and stiff personality to be so optimistic about love. It still concerned her whenever the brunette was in the vicinity of Clarke. The detached senior would turn all misty eyed; grinning fooled complimenting sack of mush. However subtle Lexa was, at times it would on occurrence be obvious to the point where it was flat out clear as day. And it would be simple for the brunette, if it weren't for the 'hot or cold' days Clarke would induce on Lexa.

It would either be small but perceptible inklings: short but noticeable smiles, curious glances, a myriad of—dare she assume— fond stares that lasted what seemed to be longer than intended. That was Clarke on an abnormal day. On a some days there were the snipped comments after Lexa even so much as cast a look her way. Though the blonde did have a tendency to try and avoid any and all interactions with the brunette. It could vary between blonde regarding Lexa as though they were naturally born enemies, or with such antipathy that was so very precarious to Octavia.

By no means was Clarke a terrible person. Actually Octavia admired the girl's naturally giving personality. She merely wished the blonde had a wretched personality so she did have an excuse to hate her, but of course the girl had to be a head strong saint.

Letting a little breath escape her lips, Octavia sends Lexa a tiny yet encouraging grin. Even if she did not actually approve of the brunettes choice of a long term love, Octavia did intend to give her full support—and sometimes reality checks.

"I won't say that she hates you. Because at least from my stand point she only has some unresolved issues with you? Which you won't tell me or anyone what happened between you two anyway. But at least she doesn't hate you?" Octavia says with a grin.

Lexa chuckles at that.

"I already told you it was something that should stay between me and Clarke. And I would assume that it's a development from last year."

Octavia smirks while leaning into the back of her chair, sliding her tray forward in order to maneuver her legs onto the table.

"Yeah she totally hated your guts last year. Like full blown couldn't care whether or not you were floated into space by the government without a spacesuit."

Eyeing the figure making their way towards the pair with a smirk, Lexa inclines her head softly.

"Five extra laps around the track Blake," At the voice Octavia immediately removes her feet from the table.

"Coach Indra...I—"

The scowl has her lips sealed instantly. The dark skinned woman settles the clipboard behind her clasped hands, while sending Lexa a dutiful nod.

"Need I remind you we are in a public environment. Have those feet on the table where food is meant to be again and I'll run you until you're pleading to have them amputated. Good afternoon Woods. Don't forget my eight extra laps after school Blake."

Indra leaves with an agitated grumble.

"Eight? What the—when the hell was it ever eight?"

Octavia sends Lexa a slew of curses that would put a titan of a sailor to shame.

_..._

She was running late.

Or really practice time had been miscalculated and now she was practically sprinting through the halls in order to reach the front of the school, all the while attempting to handle the professionally created files, and folders.

This was the second instance this school year where she was late for her monthly check-in with Anya. It wasn't really an issue when dealing with the woman, or rather it could be possibly used against her when applying for her emancipation. It was bad enough that the woman fiercely argued against her declining the weekly check she and Gustus were adamant in sending.

So of course since she was profusely oblivious the all the surroundings she was flying past, she couldn't possibly be aware of the human rounding the corner with sorely poor timing—her face mournful as she watched all the papers she spent hours pouring herself into be sprawled across the empty corridor, lips twitching in frustration as the sudden body topple over. Eye's frantically searching for any and all papers she can salvage midair.

"Shit," Lexa's hands halt at the familiarity of the voice. "Fuck me."

Attention swiveling to the no doubt familiar blonde nestled on the cream colored tiles covered with an occasional blue textile. Orbs widening momentarily before her eyebrows furrow in concern, Lexa immediately sticks her hand out to the teen that's at the moment more focused on the halls ceiling. Her voice rushes out winded and shaken.

"Clarke—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been running, but...are you okay?"

The blonde in question fixes her with a simple glare before letting out an audible breath. Letting her eyes fall to the outstretched hand and leveling it with some uncertainty, Clarke pushes herself up without the help of the brunette; who at the blunt evasion at the obvious attempt to help continue to clumsily throw the strewn papers into the two folders hazardously.

Clarke watches the frazzled display with a calculated frown, and a faint curiosity clouding the cerulean irises. Her lips slightly pursed.

Lexa rises from her crouched position a second later, expression ridden with apology.

"I'm sorry Clarke," She apologizes again. "I'm extremely late for an important meeting and I—"

There's a barest hint of a smile as the blonde puts her hand out to stop the brunettes rant.

"It's fine Lexa. I'll give you mercy this one time because I've never really seen you this frantic. Hurry and get to where you need to. Just don't knock anyone else over on your way there?" Clarke offers with a soothing tone.

And with gratitude she takes the offered peace with a hesitancy that she cannot fathom. It could be due to the impartial guilt slowly walking about her conscious. Or it can very well be her tendency to never let the blonde that holds so much responsibility for the tranquil warmth that settles into her abdomen with a simple gesture such as attention—truthfully she can never really search for the conclusion to the complexities that come forth her emotions towards the blonde, but she halts all advancement that will further help her in the future in order to utter something she's done in over a thousand varying situations. Pivoting around to notice that indeed Clarke is already watching her or was watching her dejected retreat; the ache in her chest does not cease to amplify during these tiny moments.

Lexa solemnly witnesses the hiking shoulders defensively, hardened orbs, and the very same restless turmoil return. Clarke seems to understand the reason upon her refusal to leave even before she does.

"I'm sorry." Lexa murmurs softly.

Tone low, and sincere. Only for them to hear in the desolate hallway. She truly does mean it. To the extent, where she permits the dull itch emitting from every vein to flow delicately through her entire system and to denounce every particle of her existence, with a gracious resolution. Tentatively the necessity to cradle the teen who lets her guard down for a snippet of a millisecond for Lexa to see the pain radiating from those blue irises, before it vanishes into oblivion. Oddly replaced with relief until the anger wins the lottery.

The reply is simply mute—and the calculation returns.

And she heaves a trembling breath while silently watching the blonde disappear until the hall is vacant and she can no longer hear the hurried echoed steps.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if you have to read over a few errors. You can point them out if they bother you too much...

The eerie silence has her fingers aching to trace the contours of the frame. Her eyes bore into the picture with purpose—daring her not to memorize every detail of the taunting image. She does not have the greater control not to let her eyes travel across the picture; blonde hair, and vibrant ocean-blue irises holding elusive mysteries, all while being so transparent of its emotions. She can recall how mellow those orbs could become when calm or sad, rifts of waves when excited, and a riotous storm when provoked. Or the absolute contrast of blue that the man captivating the center of the photo; those completely soothing eyes that would never chill below a lively composure, only fiery in the defense of a loved one.  

Her eyes crinkle in that manner that forebodes the slip in her ever present defense mechanism; her knuckles immediately swipe the stray tears, hands crumbling the photo like clockwork. She shoves the memory into her pocket, and sets her attention back onto her task at hand. It’s almost irony that she hears the unsettled footsteps nearing her door. She’s watchful of the shadow hovering underneath the door-frame, but pretends she’s been diligently working on her homework once the door is creaked open tentatively. 

“Dinners ready.” She inclines her head mutely. 

When she hears no retreat, her shoulders slouch in defeat. Her legs push from the floor in order to swivel the chair around. He’s eyeing her in that cautious manner, the admiration evident in his eyes. He’s a little too fond of her in her opinion a false admiration is what she believes he idolizes her with. For that very reason she’s a bit apprehensive of him, and why she slinks off further away from him on their trek towards the kitchen; she loathes the narrow hallways of the cramped apartment due to the sheer confinement they instill. Lexa despises small spaces in general. 

“Nyko made your favorite!” His voice comes in a bellow of excitement. 

Lexa peers at the young boy from the corner of her eyes, he was getting taller, and her lips uplift in a small smile once he pretends that he didn’t just trip over the cord connecting the cable to all three rooms. The scent of pasta fills her nostrils after breaking through the living room. She cannot help but grimace at the smell—she wouldn’t want to ruin the night by explaining that she truthfully hates spaghetti. Especially when noticing the short smile of appreciation with which Nyko is observing his handiwork with or the almost giddy grin that Aden has on his lips. 

“I made your favorite,” Nyko mutters softly. “I wanted to give you some sort of consolation for getting straight A’s. I mean it might not be all that big of a deal to you, but with current living conditions and all it means a lot that you’re—“ 

“It smells fantastic. Thank you Nyko.” Her short smile is meant to appease his worries, and it does just that she realizes after he settles into his seat with a newly painted tint of red on his cheeks. 

She follows suit and sits across from the pair. 

It’s only the low chatter from the two, and her occasional input that she finds the moment to seek the comfort in the tiny gesture from the kind man—where she notices the complete serenity that shrouds the man and child, how utterly comfortable and mundane that the entirety of her stay with them has been; the three years with them. She finds that her place doesn’t seem to fit within this modest apartment that by all means is only meant to home two.  

Their interactions with one another is fueled by trust, their howling laughter (more so on Aden’s part) is truly genuine—she’s reminded that she shared their love for family dinner that once. That radiant guilt invades her stomach, and she causally toys with the pasta, while attempting to listen to Aden tell a tale about his day.  

“Oh that reminds me! Lexa can you help me with my math homework? It’s all about that multiplication and stuff.” Aden questions hopefully. 

Nyko turns his gaze on her, and she feels nearly pinned underneath their innocent stares. With a forced chuckle, Lexa nods. 

“Sure.”  

They each have a subdued grin shadowing their lips—Lexa cannot fathom the exact reason behind their fondness of her. If anything she believes that they should harbor an undaunted fear of what she could have prevented.   

 _…_  

Her wandering eyes catch the floppy hair before the beaming grin; there's a certain peace in that cheerful laughter. It is upon a moment spent too long attempting to decode the incentive behind the familiar grin that she's witness to a seemingly intimate celebration. A field of endless roses—of which she admires are very beautiful in contrast to the re-birthing earth shrouding them—where metaciously placed in order to relay a question. It may seem over the top, and in spite of the swelling remorse, she must admit the gesture is very romantic. The corners of her mouth twist into a small smile at the sincere grin vast on the blondes lips. She hopes that male eyeing the blonde in wonder does not ever take the beauty for granted, and worships the pure unadulterated happiness he was able to cause. 

She'll always be grateful for Finn's ability to grant Clarke a sincere moment of happiness. No matter how much she may dislike him personally. Turning her head towards the movement to her left, Lexa does not allow the smile leave her lips. 

"That boy always goes above and beyond for her." Indra comments with a weary sigh. 

Craning her neck towards the stoic woman, Lexa inclines her head knowingly. 

"It's what she deserves," Returning to her stretching, Lexa finishes fondly. "Clarke is—she's special." 

Indra decisively cuts her attention back onto the athlete. Narrowed eyes watchful of the smile, but attentive to the sadness about the brunettes aurora. 

"He can abate her external sorrow but the greatest of despair lurking about her subconscious does not cease in its existence," Indra sighs lightly. "Now get up. You've been stretching for five minutes too long." 

Chuckling at the ever present insistence, Lexa pushes off of the track and into a light stride. Indra flicks her eyes towards the couple still oblivious to the nearing practice. She held no qualms against either, but she did regard the ever obvious fondness with what Lexa watched the blonde of the two with. So of course she held a particular dislike for the boy who constantly flaunted—albeit cleverly discreetly—their relationship in the face of her star athlete. If there were anyone who she believed to have even the slightest of chances of gaining the affection of the taken blonde, it was Lexa. Though there seemed to be more of a hint at a tragic past that she could decipher between the three.  

She did believe that the always present burden that clung to the shoulders of the blue eyed blonde; a certain sorrow that held a depth. 

"That's too slow woods three extra laps!" 

Scoffing at the imperceptible glance Clarke spared at the bemused athlete, and the wry frown Finn regarded the two with, Indra inhaled the soothing scent the flowers wafted about. Irony would cripple the three very soon. They merely had no intentions to heed the warnings of fate; she was positive of that. A history will destroy the sadness they've built. 

"You have ten minutes to clean those flowers off of my field Collins! As well as detention for a week for disrupting my practice." 

She's always hated the weeks leading up to homecoming. A smirk graced her lips while her peripherals caught the scrambling boy, and the discreet yet fleeting peek Clarke stole. 

 _…_  

She envious of their relationship in a way—the absurdity of their romance, and overall connection—it’s simplistic in every sense, yet she cannot quite decipher the unfiltered stare with which the two watch one another with. There’s a certainty in their relationship whether it’s the: the mirthful laughter they always share when having a private moment in public, or that sincere and airy affection they inflict about the atmosphere, possibly the utter desperation that links them to each other in regards to missing the other, or maybe this comes down to an actuality that they are just meant to be. To be just that in their own respective world—existing _together_. Or rather she envy’s the trust they hold; the foundation of complete trust that is their prerogative.   

She wonders briefly if that sort of trust will ever be entrusted into her care once more, or if she will have to settle for the daunting pathway of being nestled in isolation. The conviction of her past instills that belief so swiftly that she cannot discard the absolute absurdity of its validity. There is not an event or even moment in which she has not felt the foul warmth of fear that surmounts to more than the complexities of her dynamic with others. A wave of betrayal has always and will continue to haunt her for eternity within every relationship she has ever come to form; no matter how meticulous and clever it is, she's come to understand that it’s the way that fate must cater to its sadistic entertainment. It is her own faults and her endeavor to soothe her fascination with the semantics trepidation that ended her connections with a life that would have prospered; yet of course she had to ruin that herself. Or rather the flourishing relationship she has with death had to severe those lively ties on her accord.  

But now she has to salvage those ties—or rather mend the hearts she's broken in the process of self induced isolation.  

“And we’ve lost her.” 

Lexa shoots him a lively scowl, momentarily stunting his easy grin. Octavia snorts at her friend's countenance and continues on to shove through the throng of teens attempting to hustle into the spacious lunch room. Lexa eyes the teen scrambling to shovel his strewn papers into his binder, but with a guilty exhale she’s thrust into the crowd once more and the frantic boy is lost within the sea of their rambunctious peers. 

“It’s not very hard to lose the third wheel.” She replies lowly but with enough of a tease to abate their lurking concern. 

"Come off it. This would be so much easier if you'd simply give in and get a goddamn girlfriend already."  

Comes the hopeful response once they settle into their usual table towards the very far right of the cafeteria. She neglects replying to the obvious quip at her love life, because she already senses where the subject at hand will lead them to. Lincoln regards her with an apologetic incline of his head; she smiles softly at his understanding. If anyone would notice her endeavor to appease those broken hearts, it would be him.  

"Well Octavia," picking at the unappealing potato, "assuming I would even be able to denounce the mockery I made of myself freshman year. How could I even attempt to date with my hectic schedule?" 

"I know plenty of girls that would fit in that criteria. I mean do you even know how many girls who would practically rip out their own organs for a casual fling with you? There's Harper from your Calculus period, Zoe Davis, Brooke Vega, and Aria Mans—" 

"And do any of the girls above happen to have an alter ego where they go by Clarke Griffin," A grin retakes the new arrivals face. "And besides little Blake that description of just what exactly those girls would do was a little obsessive. Why would she have a fling with one of those girls from her stalker club." 

Lincoln laughs a boisterous laughter at the dark haired girls interruption. Luna settles her tray next to the youngest of the group with a blooming smirk, leg tentatively swinging over the bench. She peers at the irritated scowl directed at the welcomed intruder, before fixing Octavia with a daring frown. 

"I told you to stop calling me that. And if I do recall you dated Harper for a good three months." 

Luna smiles briefly. 

"Well excluding Harper. Harper being the better option of the other three wouldn't want a fling anyway. Neither does she deserve that. Which is why we mutually ended our relationship in the first place." 

Octavia grunts in response and decides to let the conversation lay. Eyebrow raising at the intrusive frown Luna sends her, Lexa racks her brain for any incident that would unsettle the teen.   

"You didn't seem perturbed by the giant gesture Finn made to ask Clarke to Homecoming." Luna comments offhandedly.  

The uttered observation is greeted with silence. Lincoln pointedly fiddling with his fork, and Octavia scowling at her fellow teammate with warning. Showing no external signs of disturbance, Lexa merely meets the curious inquiry with a stoic uplift of her shoulders.  

"They are dating Luna. This has been occurring for well over a year. Finn is not very secretive about his romantic gestures." Lexa speaks definatly—a tentative anger looming underneath the calm statement. 

Luna inclines her head in a acceptance, but her left hand waves methodically to pointedly motion towards the couple shrouding the conversation. Her neck diligently cranes in the direction she does not often have the bravery to turn towards. Reflexively her mind twitches with the faintest of voices tortuously whispering the memories of how exactly that relationship had become the product of her own doing; her stomach coils within itself, to which she forcibly recovers from the hesitation stalking her validated reasoning. 

"I cannot possibly be the only one who notices the flamboyant attitude Finn practically exudes. I mean he's sweet and all but you all have to notice how much of a prick he becomes when it comes to flaunting his relationship with Clarke in front of Lexa." Luna remarks acutely aware of worn apprehensiveness clouding green irises.  

Octavia remains silent, a calculative inquisition marring her overall scrunched countenance, Lincoln sits quietly—almost meekly trying to vanish upon sudden suspicion, despite his large form. Lexa slides her tray in front of her, the leisureliness of it all dauntingly placid. Her eyes fixes the teen with a methodical twinkle of a threat, her expressive detachment drilling a shiver into the shoulders of the darker girl. An eerie silence quickly shoves its presence around them, submerging the table into a steely quietness that does not deter the animated conversations of their peers. 

It nearly vanishes within a hesitant breath, almost immediately does Lexa sober up with a quick glances back towards Finn—who is watchful of Lexa in a particularly indifferent fashion; a certain flicker of recognition streaking through his attentive stare—and then she is returning to the topic at hand with the faintest of a shallow smile. 

"The two are dating. If Finn does not mind openly sharing his affection for Clarke and neither does she then so be it."  

Her tone is so utterly wistfully reminiscent that none of the three have a clue as to what exactly had just occurred; Lincoln simply sends Lexa a low stare, wanting more than anything to find the courage to wipe the hidden sadness he knows lurks beneath her exterior. 

 _…_  

Her hands immediately react—she catches the flying limbs, arms encircling a slim waist in the process; she cannot save the papers and textbooks. She decisively lets the teen in her arms come to terms with their situation; mind already divulging in the ideal tint of her companions cheeks. There’s a shimmering moment where she practically inhales the breath the brunette exhales, and she appreciates the artificial scent of cinnamon spice emitting from the teens mouth. Her calculative eyes scrutinize the brunette until lively brown irises simmer in astonishment and convert into a more wry expressiveness, yet that uncertain allure is still prominent in that stare. The cheeks do not redden in hue, and her eyebrow hitches in roused curiosity once the girl does not pull from her arms upon recognition of her personal. 

"You can let me go now lover girl," There's a mischief lurking about those dark brown irises. "Or not... I won't complain about being in the arms of such a beautiful specimen." 

Lexa refrains from indulging the flirt, and instead gently maneuvers around the leg entangled with her own, while attempting to diligently remove the girl from her arms; deliberately eluding the watchful eyes observing her in entertainment. Once producing the textbooks from her crouched position, she momentarily examines the teens condition. A flicker of discomfort from the otherwise immaculate amusement that—outlandishly in her opinion—always seems to adorn the teens countenance has her gesturing to the direction the girl was trekking towards before their collision. 

"As an apology for the set back I've probably caused. Would you mind if I escort you towards your destination?" 

Her lips twitch with the intent to smile at the absolute knowing mirroring the brunettes face, she turns before the foreshadowed refusal will become a reality. Lexa tucks the newly acquired textbooks and folders underneath her right arm, while attempting to balance her own duffel bag in her left; she pretends to not hear the slew of curses being muttered underneath the breath of her hobbling companion.  

"You always try to save the damsel in distress commander? Or is this the daily good-deed you jocks are supposed to have by the end of the day?" It's such a fine resentment in tone, and so very contradicting to the previous amusement that she can do nothing but allow her lips to twist into a small smirk. 

"On the contrary to popular belief Raven, we _jocks_ are capable of being kind without any ulterior motive." Lexa replies politely. 

They maneuver around a chattering group of wanderers seemingly hard at work to open a locker with a series of equipment—Lexa reins in the chuckle threatening to escape her lips, she hears (accompanying the mechanical echo of the unsteady leg) a sudden exclamation of "how the buffoonery of the students at this school ceases to amaze me", and she internally agrees with the irritable brunette. 

"Do you even know where we're heading?" Her companions huffs out. 

"No but I was assuming the walking around aimlessly would somehow garner a response from you. That is unless you were enjoying my company." Lexa deadpans lowly. 

"You're a little dry there with your humor. It may work on the field but it'll never work on Clarke. Who I was actually on my way to see before you trampled me."  

"If my humor is dry then surely you'd find the fault within your own Raven." 

"Whatever Lexa. We're meeting your princess at her locker. The way you stare at her everyday makes me assume you know where her locker is."  

Head shaking in taut disapproval and instead of inducing herself to further ridicule, Lexa remains silent for the rest of the walk. She doesn't even voice the matter of the reason as to why the brunette decides to observe intently.  

"Can I ask you something?" Raven utters a mere two corridors away from their destination. 

The innocent curiosity that plagues the girls tone has her momentarily stunted, its that tone intrusive that appears whenever there's an inquiry about a subject that creates such a foul anxiousness within her. Offhandedly she wants to flip the question on the brunette so flippant in her mood changes, but then the deliberate anxiety swells with a terrible ache; she's so tired and weary of her own defensiveness. Suddenly she can hear the sheer volume of the brunettes knee brace, but she can also hear the raised voices frown the hall over. They're so familiar and momentarily she remembers the tension that had slithered into their from utter exhaustion, but only now they're less tense and very playful.  

"Finn stop you're going to drop it. I swear if it breaks you're paying for it." It's almost a hidden and strained warning in the soft voice. 

Her feet follow without patience for her physically slow companion.  

"I won't break it Clarke I promise."  

"Finn!"  

Her foot breaks past the barrier of the corner. She hears the haunting sound before she spots the toe glass—the god awful sound shattered glass, and red. One blink. Two hard blinks, then another, replaced by another—she's uncertain on the matters of what exactly she was witness to. 

Blinking rapidly her neck stiffly—slow and deliberately—cranes ahead to meet the scream forcing her memory to shout in a pleading protest. Her breathing halts and she cannot remember the difference between inhale and exhale. Every birth mechanism has escaped her subconscious and she is left in shock when she searches through her mind far and wide to find the mechanisms that should come naturally. Mechanically her legs do not hinder her from carrying themselves mindlessly towards the bent over blonde cradling a scraped hand. It could have very well been the first droplets of crimson liquid staining the immaculate tiles that move her with a rapid stealth.  

Cobalt blue invades her first. She jolts with pain when she finds the despair, concern, anger; fear clouding the striking eyes. Then she is conquered by a searing fire ignited and leaving a fierce trail of destruction as she finds the dark circles enclosing the almond-shaped eyes in a way that screams the weariness the human is in. Her eyes focus and loses sight on the light blonde hair stained with red roots. It's the eyes that seals her fate. The familiarity, the simple essence in memory. The pain snips, claws, scorch, creates a powerful force that leaves her completely buried underneath the mass desolation. 

"Hey breathe okay? Just breathe."  Clarke murmurs lowly. 

The words awaken the hidden mechanism, they are a mantra that is burned into her mind until they appear in angry red lettering. The oxygen rushes into her deprived lungs with a purpose of comfort and the exhale has the stability of promise. Yet when she realizes that she has been breathing at a ragged pace she can feel the emotions cornering the deafening silence she had previously been in. The pain has an intensity that seems familiar to the knives being driven into her chest and be ripped out forcefully and hungrily seeking shelter of her heart once again. It is the ferocity of a gentle mantra. Even staying with her when the oceanic resembling eyes come into focus and she sees relief smooth over the panic she had been witness to before. She whimpers when the hands cradling her face and holding her under the concerned gaze. 

Lexa blinks in desperate attempts to decode the pool of liquid in the corners of the eyes boring into hers. Their breathing mingle and they generate a repetitive pattern. While she is positive Clarke feels comfort from the easy mantra, she still is deep within the scorching pain with every breath. Yet she breaths in order to ease Clarke of the burden from worrying over two lives instead of one. She breathes because she can bare the pain longer, she has to be able to endure the hurt to be able to function enough to see the face she dearly misses, to feel a moment of peace apart from the destructive sorrow she constantly welcomes.  

"Clarke." Lexa scours her mind in attempt to find a face to place with the bitterness of the familiar voice.

It's an easy smile that she can retain at the moment, and that alone makes her blink away the triggered paralysis. Upon identifying her current predicament does she retract her face from the warm hands. Her eyes flicker around the hall to find a few students halted in their place and watching the scene curiously.  

When she finally turns her attention to her left, she meets a pair brown orbs with a taunted by a  concern. Stoically craning her neck back towards the blonde, Lexa takes a step away from the Clarke. Consciously she reminds herself that she should never attempt to abate her internal hurt she's inflicted.    

"Lexa don't—" 

She does not allow the blonde to finish her sentence before she hurriedly locates her duffle bag and fleas from the situation, duly aware of the crunching glass beneath her frantic feet.  

… 

Lead towards the entrance of the school, Lexa mindlessly chucks her bag a few feet away. The sleeves of her jacket fervently swipe at the liquid sliding down her cheeks. Her nails curl into her palms in a desperate urgency to impede the unsolicited repentance. Her eyes force themselves open once she is more than sure she has drawn blood. Her tears do not cease to exist, even when her irises wander about the crimson stained indention's framing her palms. 

 _"It's your fault! I hate you so much! I hate you. I hate you."_ Such a sincere loathing. 

 _"I tried Clarke. I'm sorry."_  

Blood. It's a pool of blood that was presented to her through vivid crimson. Yet while it was not her own shown to her, this sight was to familiar. There could be no distinct difference between the red lukewarm liquid when it flowed from a single cut; To the naked eye at least. But everyone, they had their own specific coding in which linked the blood to match the human being it belonged to, but this—Reminded her that she could never truly escape the devastating clutch the picture of that vicious that had formed a minuscule river in the middle of a terrain that was swallowed by trees and dirt.  _The futile attempts do not stop and the blonde slaps at the tanned teen with feeble cries_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait to those who've been wondering about this fic...It won't be as long of a wait for an update like the prior one.


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